


Jeremy's Book of Stuff He Can't Remember

by laugh_a_latte



Series: Side Effects [3]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Squip Jeremy Heere, boyf riends - Freeform, light fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-06 23:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18861313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laugh_a_latte/pseuds/laugh_a_latte
Summary: Michael gives Jeremy a notebook to help him with his memory problems, and that's what Jeremy uses it for. At first.(Russian translation by wallie.txt on fibook.net available!)





	Jeremy's Book of Stuff He Can't Remember

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I'd try this writing style for a moment, so bear with me as I figure it out. The following entries take place over the course of a few months!
> 
> (PLS READ FIRST!!)This is a continuation of my story Side Effect! I made it into a series, so there's that! Please read parts 1 and 2 of the series before reading this because it won't make sense otherwise. This was originally going to be chapter 2 of my fic Side Effect, but it ended up being way longer than anticipated, hence the new series.
> 
> Part 1: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18664795
> 
> Part 2: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18850891
> 
> Credit for the notebook paper Workskin goes to La_Temperanza! And MAJOR THANK YOU to junietuesday25 who suggested I try it and helped me with the coding! <3 If the workskin for whatever reason makes it difficult to read, please let me know in the comments and I can post this fic again without the skin! <3
> 
> AND now translated into RUSSIAN by the amazing wallie.txt on ficbook! They kindly translated the whole Side Effects series, so HUGE thank you!!  
> https://ficbook.net/readfic/8383372
> 
> Anyways, hope you all like it!

Jeremy's Book of Stuff He Can't Remember

Michael gave me this notebook and I’m supposed to write down stuff I’m always forgetting in it. I don’t see how it’ll do any good.  
  
Like when I forgot my PIN, Michael told me it and I just forgot it again ten seconds later. I still don’t know what Michael’s birthday is ~~because I’m that stupid~~. Like, I know it’s the Squip and not me, but it’s my best friend’s birthday for fuck’s sake. I should be able to remember that.  
  
But yeah, can't wait to keep track of how awful my memory is now. This is just gonna be so fun.  
  
  
  
---  
  
  


Michael's birthday is September 20th. 9/20  
  
9/20  
9/20  
9/20  
9/20  
9/20  
  
  
  
---  
  
  


15-21-4 is Michael's locker combination.  
  
  
  
---  
  
  


Zelda cheats:  
Invincibility: AVVLAUSZ  
Get 16 hearts: NYKPOYZX  
Free items: SZVXASVK and AEVEVALG  
  
  
  
---  
  
  


This is stupid.  
  
  
  
---  
  
  


September 20  
  
  
  
---  
  
  


Michael's favorite mug is the blue ceramic one with the chip in the handle.  
  
  
  
---  
  
  


This is actually really scary because I don’t know what I’ve forgotten until it happens, and that’s even if I realized I fucked up.  
  
The messed up part is that I know that I know what I’m forgetting, but it’s just not there. It’s like the feeling when when you’re trying to remember the word for something, or the name of a movie you liked, or when you’re meeting someone you’ve met but you can’t quite place their name, and it’s just on the tip of your tongue, and it’s really frustrating because you know you know it but your brain fails you for a moment. Michael always says the key for remembering stuff like that is to move on and think of something else and the answer will just come to you. He says that whenever it happens. And he’s always blurting out weird forgotten facts from previous conversations in the middle of current ones, because the answer comes to him.  
  
But that doesn’t work for this because all that info is just gone, and it’s ten times worse. It’s like forgetting your own name. Not knowing Michael’s birthday feels like I’ve forgotten my own. I don’t know how to explain, and I don’t know what to do, and God it sucks. I wish I never took the Squip. ~~I'm so stupid.~~  
  
According to the last two pages, Michael’s birthday is September 20. I didn’t know that. It’s like finding out for the first time, everytime.  
  
It just won’t stick. I don’t know what to do.  
  
  
  
---  
  
  


Stuff I remember:  
  
Michael’s favorite mug is the blue ceramic one with the chip in the handle.  
  
Michael likes to clap the invisible dust off his hands when he sets up a video game.  
  
Michael has weird solutions for when your brain malfunctions.  
  
I can remember these things. I know these things. I never want to forget.  
  
I forgot Michael's phone number. I had to text him from Christine's phone, and he's not saved in it, and I couldn't remember. I'm the worst.  
  
  
  
---  
  
  


Michael's phone number is 202-555-0182  
  
Michael's birthday is September 20.  
  
  
  
---  
  
  


Last summer, I dragged Michael to go see some Broadway show because Christine liked it a lot and I wanted to impress her with my Broadway knowledge.  
  
It was stupid.  
  
I could tell Michael didn’t really want to go because he wouldn’t look me in the eye when I told him I got tickets and he was pulling that half smile thing that he doesn’t really mean.  
  
That’s another thing. When Michael smiles, he fucking smiles. Full tooth, and his tongue always pokes between his teeth a little. I don’t know if he thinks that half smile really tricks anyone, but it doesn’t trick me. I don’t want to forget that, either, so there.  
  
Anyways, it’s a long ass train ride and we had to take the subway, too, and it was a Saturday night and really crowded and kind of hot. Michael was quiet the whole time and messing around with his bracelets. He does that when he’s nervous. I always want to reach out and take his hand off them to stop him, but I can’t.  
  
Because that’s an important thing about Michael. He hates contact unless he is the one starting it, and some from me is okay. I can usually push him around a little or place a hand on him, but definitely no hugs or anything like that, and absolutely no touching when he’s panicking and that’s why this was a bad idea, because the subways were crowded and pushy, and Michael doesn’t like stuff like that.  
  
And I kind of forgot that, because I kept telling Michael to come on because we were going to be late because I was so intent and focused on seeing this show Christine liked that I forgot to check on Michael. And it’s not like I love crowds. I hate crowds, but I was just too busy thinking of Christine.  
  
And Michael was doing this for me so I wouldn’t have to see it alone, and I dragged him there and made him uncomfortable and didn’t even realize.  
  
God, I am the Worst.  
  
So, we get to the theatre, and Michael must have been really stressed out by then, but he kept quiet, and I just didn’t notice until it was too late.  
  
  
  
---  
  
  


We get inside and have like ten minutes to find our seats, but we were up in the balcony or whatever, and there were just so many people and the ushers kept asking to see our tickets, and we get to our aisle, but we can’t figure out which row is G, so we’re standing there looking for the sign, and this woman behind us is being very loud. And she tells us to hurry up already and that we’re blocking the aisle. But we weren’t because Michael was practically attached to my side and I don’t take up that much room, and there were a million other people in that square foot taking up room, too, but she plows through us anyways. I turned around in time to see her push into Michael, and Michael was already kind of freaking out, and just something about that lady did it.  
  
Michael broke down and he started hyperventilating, his hands clutching and pulling his hoodie strings, and I didn’t know what to do.  
  
I dropped the Playbill thing in my hand and had to get Michael out of there, but I knew Michael wasn’t thinking really.  
  
I shoved past that lady and had to stand between Michael and the rest of the people, and everyone was looking at us, and I felt so ridiculous because we were sixteen, not six, and shouldn’t be having panic attacks in public, and I was a little embarrassed, but that’s just how Michael was and it wasn’t his fault. And these people kept staring at us, and I was so pissed off at everyone.  
  
But I told Michael we were leaving and didn’t have to see the show, and he seemed to understand because he kept nodding and then he was apologizing on repeat and trying to muffle his panic attack in his sleeve. I asked if I could touch him and he kept nodding, so I grabbed his arm and pulled him out of there and into the lobby, which was almost empty because the show was about to start.  
  
Michael sat down into one of the chairs, and the ushers were super nice and kept asking if he needed anything. But I know Michael hates being coddled like that, so I said no. And after a few minutes Michael was breathing again and apologizing still, and it just fucking sucked.  
  
But I should have known. I should have known Michael would hate this type of thing. I shouldn't have done that to him.  
  
So Michael hates contact, and he has anxiety in crowds, but Michael stays quiet and doesn’t complain when he’s uncomfortable. Michael plays with his bracelets and hoodie strings, and pulls weird smiles, and apologizes a lot when he’s nervous, and tries to hide it. Michael thinks I’m worth that anxiety, apparently. Or maybe he thought. I don’t know, but I know that I'm definitely not worth it anymore.  
  
Michael was an amazing friend like that, and he still is, but now he's a little fucked up, and it's all my fault. I can never undo that.  
  
  
  
---  
  
  


Michael’s favorite mug is the blue one with the chip.  
  
Michael claps invisible dust from his hands, like an accomplished dad who just built a swing set and not at all like a teenager who just set up an NES.  
  
Michael blurts out random remembered facts in conversation, always with his real smile and his tongue poking out a little, and his eyes all glowing, like he just solved a murder and not like he just remembered the name of the movie he saw last week.  
  
Michael has a really nice smile.  
  
Michael has anxiety in crowds, but pretends not to until it’s too late.  
  
  
  
---  
  
  


Michael drinks black coffee. He started it freshman year because he couldn’t stay awake. Now he can’t stay asleep, but he still drinks coffee.  
  
I think he has insomnia, because he never seems to be asleep and he always looks like death when I see him at night, but he insists everything is fine. I don’t think so.  
  
Michael doesn’t sleep, and that’s something that started sometime between when I took the Squip and when he got rid of it. Or well, thought he got rid of it, I guess. Because I still don’t know what his birthday is.  
  
A lot happened in those almost two months to Michael.  
  
He stopped sleeping. He got more guarded. He's hiding things from me, when before we told each other everything. And I wish he didn’t do that, but I can’t be mad about it.  
  
Sometime in those two months, Michael got six new bracelets to cover the scars on his arms.  
  
Six fucking bracelets. I did that. I did that to him. I made him feel like he had to do that, or however it works. I don’t know. And he still does it, but we don’t talk about it like we used to.  
  
I want to tell him how sorry I am for making him want to do that, but Michael won’t let me bring it up. He deflects my attempts or sometimes straight up ignores them. He won’t tell me about his new bracelets.  
  
Sometimes, we will talk about his issues or harming or whatever the fuck, but never the ones I caused because I’m such a fucking idiot. And those are the ones we need to talk about. I need to tell him how sorry I am. I need Michael to not feel bad about that, because it wasn't his fault.  
  
I knew about Michael's harming before. I should have fucking known, too, when I blocked him, that he might do that, but I wasn’t thinking with the Squip. I just wasn’t thinking. I just wanted Christine to like me.  
  
I used to try to help Michael stop hurting himself, but I caused some of that hurt, and I can’t fix it, and now I don’t know if my help is welcome. I don't know if it ever was, but at least he used to let me try. I still try, but.  
  
I just hope at some point he’ll let me talk to him about it, but I know that apology needs to be on his terms when he’s ready, so all I can do is wait and wait ~~and hate myself for it~~ and wait.  
  
Anyways, I hope to God he never reads this.  
  
His birthday is September 20.  
  
  
  
---  
  
  


I was being stupid today and was freaking out over what was literally nothing, and I called Michael in the middle of the night. He came and over and I just always feel so bad for bothering him with my life. So I apologize, and when that doesn’t work, I thank him, because he deserves that. But Michael always brushes right over those things with his soft half smile and some random comment or thought or fact or excuse to derail what I’m trying to say.  
  
I don’t even know why, but he doesn’t listen, and I feel like shit about it. So there’s another thing about Michael. He hates apologies, and thanks yous, and anything that he deserves, apparently.  
  
  
  
---  
  
  


Michael started singing along to his music when he blasts it, again. He hasn’t done that since before.  
  
Michael has a really nice voice. Not that I would tell him that.  
  
He also smiles when he sings.  
  
  
  
---  
  
  


Today I found out Michael binged watched seasons of Survivor when I was being stupid with the Squip.  
  
Survivor. Michael likes Survivor now. This is weird.  
  
We've always had the same interests. We might have different opinions about said interests, but still. And now he likes Survivor, and I don’t know anything about Survivor.  
  
We were hanging out and he was scrolling on his phone and started freaking out because some person he liked from another season was coming back for the next season or something. Then he realized I wasn’t following, and he realized I didn’t know this new thing about him. And he must have remembered why exactly I didn’t know what he was talking about, and he shut down completely.  
  
So now not only am I forgetting things about Michael, but now there are things I just straight up don’t know about him at all.  
  
  
  
---  
  
  


Michael broke his favorite mug today.  
  
  
  
---  
  
  


Michael has been cycling through various other mugs, but nothing has replaced the blue mug with the chip so far. He keeps saying they don’t ‘feel right.’  
  
Michael started refurbishing an original Play Station today. We were in his basement, and when he left to go switch the laundry over, he clapped the dust off his hands, all accomplished and dad-like. He likes to do that, and it’s actually really endearing.  
  
Michael knows a lot of weird fun facts. He reads articles and watches documentaries. He knows so much about everything. He is a walking Encyclopedia. If you don’t know something about some weird subject, ask Michael, because he'll happily tell you all about it. And when he can’t remember, give him a few minutes and change the topic. It’ll come to him.  
  
Michael has a great smile. Big and toothy and his tongue sticks out just a little. That’s how you know if it’s a genuine smile or not, because he points out the little tongue poke thing in pictures and says it's not cute and that we need to retake the picture, so I retake the picture. I always keep the first one, though, for myself. I never want to forget what his real smile looks like, and I hope he never stops.  
  
Michael has anxiety and I need to get better at recognizing those things because he’ll pretend something’s not bothering him, when it really is, to save my feelings. I don’t deserve that, and he shouldn’t feel like he has to do that.  
  
Michael drinks way too much black coffee. He has insomnia, but pretends he doesn’t.  
  
Michael wears bracelets but won’t talk to me about them anymore. He doesn’t tell me a lot of things anymore.  
  
Michael is a wonderful listener, unless you’re trying to thank him or apologize for being stupid. Maybe I’m why he has insomnia. Probably not, but I definitely don’t help. I want to help, but I can't seem to figure it out. Most of the time I think I do the opposite.  
  
Michael sings along to music in his car or when he’s cleaning. His voice is light and fluttery but really strong still, and it's actually really pretty. He stopped doing it for a few months after the Squip, at least in front of me. So now when he sings, everything feels almost okay again.  
  
Michael likes Survivor. Michael likes drawing, too. And he has a box full of embroidery thread he uses to make bracelets. He also has a box of bracelets because he’s made more than he knows what to do with. And all of this is new. Michael likes a lot of new things that he didn’t before the Squip. I’m trying to keep up.  
  
But when he talks about these things, before he realizes I have no clue what he's talking about, he gets excited. His eyes light up, like they do when we talk about X-men or when he gets a text from his hook-up at Spencer’s Gifts. And that ridiculous smile makes an appearance, and he forgets to keep his voice down, he forgets to be guarded. He throws his hands everywhere. And it’s really amazing to watch him get excited about things. It makes him happy, and that makes me so happy that I can't catch my breath.  
  
And, yeah.  
  
Michael’s birthday is September 20.  
  
I hope he never reads this.  
  
  
  
---  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This is my first journal-style fic! Please let me know what you think? Your comments literally make me the happiest, and all are welcome! Constructive criticism is also mad appreciated! <3


End file.
